A Life Once Lived
by divine-serenityJenevieve
Summary: Wes pastfic. WesFred fic. When a singlepaged letter arrives at Wolfram & Hart for Wesley it revives memories long forgotten, shedding light on a man whose journey through life has been anything but straight and narrow.
1. A Bittersweet Reunion

_A Life Once Lived_

By Jenevieve

**Summary:** Wes past-fic. Wes/Fred fic. When a single-paged letter arrives at Wolfram & Hart for Wesley it revives memories long forgotten, shedding light on a man whose journey through life has been anything but straight and narrow.

**Rating:** PG-13 for sexual situations and violence

**Warning:** Temporary pair of Wes with another character but only in relation to his past.

**Disclaimer:** I sadly do not own any of the characters. They are all the wonderful creations from the wacky mind of Joss Whedon, and I am only taking advantage of my love of the show to play with them for a little while.

**Spoilers:** This fic takes place between "Lineage" and "Smile Time" during Angel Season 5, so it covers the entire Angel and Buffy series in relation to Wesley's history and relationships to date.

**Dedicated: **Kristen (lj user vampwill) – One of the biggest Wes fans I know, and a wonderful friend. I love you passion. You're an inspiration to me and I'm so grateful we've become such good friends!

**A/N: **Lyrics used in this fanfiction are from Marc Cohn's song "Man of the World". This fic is told through a series of flashbacks from the present timeline and was written for February's Character Challenge at the live journal community 12monthsofbtvs. Puck and Falstaff refer to characters in Shakespearean works. All phrases in Latin were taken from "Smile Time" (Angel Season 5). Also since Wesley's age is never officially identified, I placed him as being 20 or so when he joined the Buffy cast which would put him at about 25 years old when the Angel series ended.

---

_I want to be a man of the world  
With blood in my veins and a hurt in my heart  
Out in the street with the noise and the dirt  
And the ones still looking for a brand new start..._

_Show me how to come alive  
Show me how to make you mine…_

-----

**Chapter 1: A Bittersweet Reunion**

It was late, nearly 1 a.m., and the executive level of Wolfram & Hart was abandoned for the night, the soft glow of a few computer screens and low-night time lighting the only illumination among the quiet halls. He sat alone in his office amidst the shadows, the small desk lamp he had on and the blank pages of one of his many source books were his only companions.

"The Saitama Codex," he whispered over the blank pages.

Slowly the neat lines of text began to magically appear across the worn sheets of paper. As they spread, he reached into the lower drawer of his desk and retrieved a bottle of scotch. Pouring himself a glass, he downed the auburn liquor in one long gulp before pouring himself a second. The scruffy stubble of a few days growth clung to the smooth line of his jaw giving him a haunting tortured look. Here and there the faint color of gray dusted the stubble, a constant reminder of the slow passage of his life. Leaning forward in his seat he rested his jaw on the back of his folded fists. His tired blood-shot eyes tried to focus on the words before him but to no avail. Rubbing violently at his eyes he let out a long sigh of frustration. He just couldn't concentrate.

With a growl he slammed the source book shut and shoved it back into its place on his desk. Again his hands found the glass of alcohol and he finished off another two glasses before leaning back in his overstuffed chair and letting out a long breath. After everything that had happened over the last few weeks, hell over the last year and half a part of him was surprised at how heavy things still seemed to hang on his shoulders. He'd lost the friendship and trust of the only friends he had really had, lost his accreditation with the Watcher's Council, and managed to kill his father in cold blood.

Ok, so he had earned back the trust and friendship of his colleagues and friends and the father he had killed had turned out to be a cyborg instead of the real flesh and blood man, but even all that didn't seem to take the edge off. No, the life of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was nothing more than a long laundry list of one failure after another, one long –running cosmic comedy of errors except there was no Puck, no Falstaff to bring it all together, to deliver up a happy ending. Just a man, sitting alone with his books watching his life pass by, his only focus on doing what needed to be done to maintain the world for those whose lives still held promise. Not some champion, not someone's lover, not even someone's beloved son, just a man forgotten and forsaken by world.

Turning his chair, he stared out at the silent blinking skyline of L.A., his hand retrieving the single-paged letter that had been abandoned but not forgotten on the corner of his desk. As he stared out the window he could feel the smooth sheet of paper in his hand that had arrived earlier in the day. He'd been so busy with gathering materials for a case Gunn was working on he hadn't open the letter until an hour earlier. He'd been so preoccupied he hadn't even taken notice of the return address: Paris, France. There were only two people he knew who lived in Paris and the letter was definitely personal not business related, with its carefully penned envelop.

Again he was acutely aware of how tired he felt. His resolve broken, he soon found his eyes moving over the hand-writing once again:

_Wesley,_

_Jacquelyn is dead. Considering your exclusion from the Council I wasn't certain you would have heard, and despite our differences I felt you should know. She never truly spoke ill of you, even considering all that happened, though she spoke of you rarely. By the time you receive this she will have been buried here in Paris which she so loved. If it is any comfort know that her death was fast and painless, and she died among her friends and family where she always belonged. Professionally speaking, I hope this letter finds you in good health and happiness, and though I am writing you I would advice against any trips to visit her grave. Jacquelyn may have born no ill will towards you in the end, but speaking on behalf of her family I think it would be most respectful and in the best interest of all that you stay where you are. There are moments when I wish things could have ended differently between us, but there is little we can do about that now. I just thought you had a right to know._

_- Michael Thomas_

_Senior Chair of the Watchers Council_

Jacquelyn was dead. Again he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. Closing his eyes, he let the letter drop soundlessly to the floor, Jacquelyn's smiling laughing face dancing before his eyes. How many years had it been since he'd seen her or Michael? Too many, far too many to count. Opening his eyes he was startled by the gaunt sallow reflection of his own face. He stared harder into his eyes, through the glass passed the L.A. skyline. Rapidly he feel deeper and deeper into the darkness, his memories flowing like a river dragging him under…

"Hey Pryce!"

Pushing up the bridge of his glasses, he pulled his nose from the book he'd been so engrossed in. Michael Thomas stood peering down at him, his hair impeccably combed, his school uniform spotless. Michael was the very picture of British upbringing and the perfect poster-boy for the Watcher's Council, and considering his father's position as the Council President, expectations were high for Michael to do great things once he graduated in the spring.

Wesley on the other hand was far from the top, an embarrassment his father, the acting Vice-President, reminded him of daily. Often rumpled and disheveled in appearance, his soft boyish features demanded little in way of respect, and his quiet nature was viewed as more submissive than a gentle respect for others and their ideas. Oh he had the grades; he was the youngest and most intelligent candidate to begin Watcher training in the Council's history but his curiosity and recently expressed ideas on how the Watcher-Slayer relationship should be structured had evoked shock and concern from many of his instructors and members of the council. Like Michael, he would be graduating and receiving his assignment in a few months, there was little faith in his future. His fascination with the occult had led him to refused to be content with simply watching, a practical carnal sin as far as the Council was concerned, and considering the competitive nature of the training, Wesley had turned himself into a bit of pariah among his peers, making his friendship with Michael all the more surprising.

Many believed Michael hung around with Wesley as nothing more than an overt rebellious act directed at his father. But the truth was that the two young Watchers-to-be complimented one another in that way that often produced close brotherly friendships. And whether he hung around him out of genuine friendship or to irritate his father, Wesley really didn't care. Michael was his best friend and that's all that mattered.

"Seriously, Pryce, give the books a break for ten seconds!" Michael teased, offering his friend a hand up.

"Sorry," Wesley mumbled as Michael pulled him to his feet.

"And for the last time, quit apologizing to me. You need to save each of those for your old man, not me." Glancing around, Michael stretched his arms lazily in the warm April sunshine. "Who says we never get sun in England," he mused to himself. "So Wes, what do you feel like doing today?"

Wesley finished collecting his pile of books before offering up a shrug.

"Well I'll tell you what, first thing we are doing is dumping off all these books of yours in your room. You're never going to be much of a watcher if you end up crippled in some wheelchair from tooting all these books around," Michael laughed, clapping Wesley as the two headed off towards the dorms.

A half hour later the two boys had lost their books, jacket, and ties, and lounged on the bleachers of the school's rugby field, the top buttons of their collared shirts undone, sleeves rolled up to their elbows. A soft breeze blew carrying the sweet warm smells of late spring.

"Hey Wes?"

"Mmm?" Wesley replied, his eyes closed, glassed stowed away in the breast pocket of his shirt.

"You think we'll ever have, you know, normal lives considering becoming Watchers. I mean, do you see yourself being married?" Michael leaned forward on his elbows, glancing side-long at his friend.

"I don't see why not. My parents are married."

"Yeah but they are both Watchers with potential slayers both living here in England. Most of us don't have that situation. Besides could you consider that even normal?"

"Sure," Wesley sat forward frowning. "That is normal."

Michael burst in to laughter. "Pryce you are priceless! Have you even looked at girl before?"

Wesley opened his mouth to speak but the soft laughter of approaching voices made him turn. Michael's younger sister Annabelle and dark-haired girl were walking towards them.

"Hey Mike. Hi Wesley!" Annabelle waved as the two grew closer.

Wesley watched the girls in silence, his eyes transfixed on the dark-haired girl beside Annabelle. She was beautiful. Her hair was so dark brown it was almost black and had been swept back in a neat ponytail, a wispy layer of bangs falling about her face. Her eyes were the deep swirling green of jade and her skin was like porcelain, perfectly smooth and white with just the hint of pink along her cheekbone. Long lashes enhanced the green of her eyes, and her smile was a radiant light.

"This is Jacquelyn Privett," Annabelle grinned. "She's new to the school and Dad's having me give her the tour. Jacquelyn, this is my brother Michael and his friend Wesley."

"Pleasure to meet you," Jacquelyn bestowed her radiant smile upon each of the boys as she gently took their hands. As she shook Wesley's hand her eyes narrowed, "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?"

"Yes," the word tumbled from his lips.

"I've heard of you, Mr. Pryce," Jacquelyn raised and eyebrow. "Brilliant prodigy with a habit of sticking his foot down his throat."

Michael broke out into peels of laughter. "That our Wesley," he slapped his friend on the back again. Wesley turned a vibrant shade of red, as he fumbled to pull his glasses from his pocket, his eyes focused on his feet.

"By the way, Mike. Dad's been looking for us both. I was going to head over to his office as soon as I finished showing Jacquelyn around…"

"Oh go ahead, Annabelle. I'm sure Wesley can finish giving me the tour." Her eyes were watching him carefully and Wes made sure to look everywhere but her face.

"Ok then, come on Mike."

"Save me a seat at dinner, Pryce!" Michael called over his shoulder as he followed his sister.

"Shall we?" Jacquelyn offered her arm to Wesley, but he was oblivious to it.

"Where else did you have need to go?" His voice was unusually shaky.

"Are you always this nervous with new people or is it because I'm female?" Jacquelyn's voice held a hint of amusement that stung.

"I'm not very good with people," Wesley confessed, his words falling despite his better judgment.

"You seemed fine with Michael."

Wesley just stared at the ground in front of him.

"Well I'll just have to show you that you can be fine with me too," Jacquelyn smiled. "Now can you please show me where the library is? I here there are more volumes in there than all the libraries in Europe combined!"

A smile pulled at the edges of Wesley's lips at the mention of the library he loved so. "It really is unparalleled," he smiled slightly.

"Ah huh, I thought there was real voice in there somewhere," Jacquelyn teased, and Wesley couldn't help but grin wider. "Now show me this literary paradise."


	2. A Hero is Born

**Chapter 2: A Hero is Born**

"Admit it Wes, you like this girl," Michael lay on his back in the grass just outside the library, arms folded behind his head staring up at the clouds above. "Ooo that one looks like Slavark demon!"

"I do not," Wesley snapped back frowning up at the same clouds, "And that most certainly does not look like a Slavark demon. Where are the three pair of tentacles?"

"Turn you head to the side and squint…yep right there! Slavark demon!" Michael sat up victorious. "And you do like her. Wes, buddy, you're nearly 19 years old. Girls don't have cooties anymore."

"I don't want to talk about it, Michael," Wesley sat up on his elbows and squinted up at his friend.

"Just ask her out," Michael pressed.

"No thank you," Wesley pushed himself up to his feet. He was not going to have this conversation again.

"So you have no interest in Jacquelyn Privett other than as a peer and fellow watcher-to-be?"

"Precisely," Wesley nodded curtly. "Now I've got some reading to get done."

"Alright Pryce, just so we're clear on the you not liking Jacquelyn."

In retrospect, he'd been such a fool. Of course he had had feelings for Jacquelyn. In such a short period of time he had fallen completely in love with her; a girl he had never hugged or touched, let alone kissed. He'd never met a girl like her before: beautiful, smart, and for some reason she seemed to enjoy his company. And it terrified him!

What did he know about women? He knew spells, theories, and fighting techniques. Books and scrolls, that was what he understood well, not women, not love. He wouldn't even know where to begin, what to say, or even what to do. The first woman in his life outside of his mother and he had managed to fall completely in love with her without so much as a touch. And now he was expected to confess his undying devotion to her? No, that would never happen and only in his wildest dreams would he ever be loved back by a woman like her. He was not the kind of man that love had ever looked favorably on, not even from his parents. He had a calling, a responsibility that came first and foremost. He had no time for women or for love, so what did it matter that just being around her made his pulse race. Yet in the end it had mattered very little. Jacquelyn Privett was a lot like Michael in one respect: she found Wesley fascinating and was determined to win him over.

Wesley sat forward in his chair, his hands rubbing over his tired face. He suddenly felt much much older than his 25 years. Jacquelyn's smiling face still haunted him. Why did so many of his memories evoke such painful emotions? Had there ever been a time in his life when he was happy? His mind desperately clung to the hope that some happy memories lingered in his subconscious somewhere, and slowly very slowly he felt himself drifting back again…

Jacquelyn's laughter filled the air like the tinkering of bells, and he couldn't help but join in. It was nearly midnight and they sat studying together among stacks of books and scrolls, alone in the top most balcony of the Council's extensive library.

"I bet his face was so red!" Jacquelyn giggled.

"The color of a tomato," Wesley beamed. "He just kept sputtering and glaring down at me." Wesley leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

"What?" Jacquelyn grinned, tilting her head to the side and staring up at him.

"It's just that I wished so hard I knew some spell for spontaneous combustion at that moment, so I could just get away, get out of that class. I thought I was going to be expelled right there and then on the spot. I was terrified. And now, now I'm actually laughing about it."

"Can't be afraid of everything your whole life, Wesley. You'll never live if you do that," Jacquelyn replied. "Bet your father was mad."

"Mad would be an understatement," Wesley sighed. "How dare you," he began to imitate his father's gruff British tone, "purposing that a Watcher take an active bias role in the Slayers battles! Are you out to ruin our family's name or are you just stupid?"

"Wow," Jacquelyn breathed. "I think that's the draw back to becoming a Watcher."

"What is?" Wesley leaned forward, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Losing all touch with reality."

The two of them burst into laughter again. Wesley was laughing so hard he had to remove his glasses to wipe at the corners of his eyes.

"Do you need to wear these all the time?" Jacquelyn frowned, lifting up his glasses and looking through them. "Wesley, is there a prescription here at all?" Placing the glasses on her own nose she blinked a few times at him through them. "I can see nearly perfectly well through these."

"I need them more for reading," he confessed, "But I like them." He took them back from her and slid them back up his own nose.

"Well you look better without them," Jacquelyn smiled. "You look more dangerous."

"Dangerous? Pryce?" Michael's laughing voice danced across the otherwise silent stacks. "Jacquelyn, you don't know our Wesley very well now do you." He circled around the back of Wesley's chair before stopping right beside Jacquelyn, his hands pressed palms down on the desktop. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce does not do anything dangerous!"

"I bet he could if he wanted to," Jacquelyn shot back.

"Nope, not a chance," Michael grinned, leaning in closer to her face. For a moment the two stared up at one another, noses nearly touching eyes locked. Wesley glanced completely confused from one to the other.

Finally he replied, "Michael's right."

Jacquelyn shot Michael a parting glare before turning back to Wesley. "I bet you could. Bet you could call forth any demon you wanted from some of the scrolls here and be in complete control. There would be no danger in it all outside of breaking school codes, considering all you know. Come on, Wesley. Don't be afraid of everything your whole life." She stared up at him with big earnest eyes full of faith and trust, the kind he had never seen bestowed on him before.

After a few moments he nodded. "Ok, let's do it."

"Pryce, mate, I'm proud of you!" Michael smiled. "Now let's have some real fun. But what demon to call forth? I got it, a Heneshi demon."

Wesley frowned. Heneshi demons were a particularly nasty breed that enjoyed slowly bleeding their prey to death before sucking out their souls and devouring them still alive. But if one could utter the proper controlling spell within the first ten minutes of the creature's appearance then all of the demon's strength and mind-control powers would be neutralized and it would be no more harmful than a puppy. The only problem was that the incantation to control the beast was in a dead form of an ancient Sumerian dialect so it would be tricky. But he could do it, right?

"Are you sure we want to try with that demon first off?" Wesley chewed his lower lip. Self-doubt started creeping in on all sides.

"Hey that's the challenge. No shame in admitting you don't have the nerve to do it," Michael's voice had a hint of something new in it. Condescending. Insulting. No, it had to be a mistake right?

"No no, I can do it," Wesley stammered. "We just need to move this table out of the way, and I'll need something to write with and candles."

"Got it and got it," Jacquelyn grinned, holding up a tube of red lipstick and a handful of long white candles.

"Ok, Michael, I need you to draw a pentagram on the floor…right here," Wesley pointed. "And Jacquelyn, I'm going to need some of the holy water from the Chapel."

"Be back in a flash," she nodded as she raced towards the exit, while Michael and Wesley worked to get the pentagram all set.

"I thought you said you didn't like her," Michael's voice was far from cordial.

"I don't," Wesley stammered, surprised by the unhappy tone in Michael's voice.

"Then why are you doing this?" Michael glared up at him.

"I don't…I'm sorry…did I…?" Wesley was so confused by Michael's behavior he began babbling like a child but before he could say more Jacquelyn was back.

"All set," she tossed Wesley a small vial of holy water and he slid it into his pants pocket.

"Then let's get this show started," Michael grinned, but his eyes were cold and empty.

The three of them sat Indian-style at opposite ends of one of the triangles that made up the pentagram each holding a lit candle. Wesley sat at the Northern most point, the scroll with the incantation spread out at his feet.

"Anytime now," Michael whined, shifting his weight slightly.

"Shhh!" Jacquelyn shot back. "Let him think."

Quietly Wesley began to chant.

"Turn up the volume, Pryce. The Powers that Be aren't mind readers!" Turning slightly to Jacquelyn Michael added, "Then again I suppose they could be." She just glared back at him.

Wesley raised his voice, unusually high and cracking. He swallowed hard to get control before continuing, his voice much more steady. Lightning cracked high in the rafters above them and a steady wind began to blow fast and hot. Wesley kept chanting, his voice growing in volume, his body shaking with the power he felt seeping out from the scroll before him, crawling up his arms into his chest and out through is voice.

Suddenly a burst of lighting crashed to the floor at the center of the pentagram shattering all the light bulbs around and plunging the entire library into complete darkness. With a deep low guttural growl a Heneshi demon crawled from the fading light of the lightning bolt, illuminated in an eerie yellow glow. It stood nearly 8 feet tall, towering over the students, who had all back quickly away from the circle, candles abandoned and blown out on the floor. The demon's skin was a molted mix of greens, browns, and grays running together in ridges of razor sharp horns and red veiny lumps of horny flesh. Its face had two large black eyes, stuck above a sharp pointed nose. Long tusks dripped green goo onto the floor boards, and a mouth full of sharp pointed yellow teeth gleamed in the faded moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Long curved clawed hands hung nearly to its knees and three large sickle shaped claws extended from each foot clicking against the floor. The creature let out a hot fetid breath of air as it took in its surroundings.

"Wesley," Michael's voice was shaking with fear.

"Oh right," Wesley mumbled. He'd been so in awe of the creature's appearance and the fact that he had successfully called it forth that he had completely forgotten why they were there. Quickly he began to utter the control spell when the creature took its first step out of the pentagram!

"Wesley!" Jacquelyn shrieked as the demon fixed it sites on her and took another step forward.

"Do something!" Michael cried. "The pentagram isn't holding him!"

_It couldn't be! _ But it was. Slowly and steadily the creature was leaving the protective shield of the pentagram and moving after Jacquelyn. Wesley's mind raced. It wasn't possible! It shouldn't be possible! The only explanation was that the pentagram hadn't been completely sealed, but that would mean…

Frantically Wesley's eyes searched the pentagram. Sure enough a good one inch segment had not been connected. But Michael had drawn it and he had drawn successful pentagrams hundreds of times for classes. Why would he make such an egregious error now?

"Wesley!" Jacquelyn's voice was high pitch scream as the creature reached for her.

Without a pause Wesley leaped into action, throwing his body full force into the creature's side and sending it rolling across the library floor. Rolling onto his side he stumbled towards Jacquelyn dropping to his knees beside her.

"Are you all right?" his hands reached to pull her hands from her face.

She was hysterically sobbing and practically rolled forward into his arms. A deep bloody gash ran the length of her right arm but the rest of her was in one piece…for now. Quickly Wesley removed his tie and began to wrap it around her wound tightly.

"Jacquelyn! Jacquelyn, look at me," he demanded, his voice surprisingly even and strong. She glanced up at him between butterfly lashes, her face pale with terror and streaked with tears. "I need you to keep pressure on your arm, ok? You're going to be alright but I need to put the demon back before we can get you to a doctor, alright? Can you do that?" She offered him the briefest of nods. He smiled back at her warmly, his hands gently cupping her cheeks as he wiped away her tears.

He got back to his feet just in time to see Michael leap head long at the demon only to go sailing across the room into a shelve of books. Things were getting out of control very fast. If he didn't do something soon the creature would regain its full power and be able to lock them all in its gaze. Then it would be all over. His only hope was to complete the pentagram and the get creature back inside it. Then he could bind it and send it back. But where was the tube of lipstick?

Racing across the room Wesley dropped to Michael's side. The boy was unconscious, a nasty cut on his forehead and an even nastier one running from his right shoulder to his left hip. Thankfully it wasn't deep so no internal organs were seeping out but Michael needed help and soon. Quickly, Wesley searched his friend's pockets for the tube of lipstick all the while acutely aware of the creature's lumbering steps. It was starting to regain more power, more focus, and he felt the first probing pressure of the demon's mind searching for the one who called it.

Finally Wesley's hand curled around the small metal tube in Michael's pocket, and before he knew it he was dashing across the library floor once again. Suddenly the creature leapt in front of him but Wesley was going to fast and he crashed head long into the beast, sending them both skidding across the floor. Scrambling back to his feet, Wesley dove across the floor sliding in beside the incomplete circle and connected the line just as the demon grabbed him from behind. The demon lifted Wesley up by the throat and flung him head long across the pentagram and into a set of shelves.

Wesley lay on his back, his entire body numb as stars exploded before his eyes. The world sounded strangely muffled and he was acutely aware of books falling like heavy rain around his head, buffeting his body. Suddenly the pain came back sharp and mind splitting and he curled onto his side gasping. To his left he could see Jacquelyn rocking quietly back and forth, her body pressed tightly against a bookcase, her eyes haunted with terror. He had to get back on his feet. He had to finish the spell, but just as he was pushing himself up the demon grabbed his foot and began to pull him towards it.

At first he pressed his back to the floor, hands extended above his head scratching, clawing, desperately seeking something to cling to. Claws dug into his ankle and he screamed as he felt blood dripping into his shoe. Instinctively he glanced down towards the pain and as his eyes moved from his bleeding ankle to the demon's hideous form he noticed that the creature was standing in the middle of the pentagram!

Kicking with all his might, Wesley wriggled out of the demon's grasp, leaving only his shoe in the beast's clawed hand. Fingertips raw and bleeding, her clawed his way across the floor until he was well out of reach, before pushing himself into a sitting position, scroll in hand.

"_Omnia incantamenta fracta! Omnia incantamenta fracta_!" Wesley cried.

The creature roared and reached for him but it was trapped, bound within the confines of completely pentagram. Wesley let out a deep breath. He had time now, and carefully he picked through the upturn books and scrolls until he found the right one. Slowly, carefully he chanted the last few lines of the Sumerian incantation and the demon vanished in a bolt of lighting.


	3. A Moment Suspended in Time

**Chapter 3: A Moment in Suspended Time**

Exhausted, Wesley dropped heavily to the floor. He sat in silence for a few moments, eyes still locked on the now empty pentagram. Suddenly a laugh escaped his lips and before he could stop himself he was lying on his back on the floor laughing so hard he was crying. He had done it! He had called forth a demon of incredible power, it had gotten loose, and yet he had kept his cool and stopped it. It was exactly as he had imagined it to be. Instead of just standing and watching he had taken action, gotten involved and it had worked!

A frightened sniffle broke him from his euphoria. "Jacquelyn," he whispered, crawling back to her side. Her entire body was shaking and gently he reached out to draw her near. Gently his hands touched her shoulders and she flinched violently.

"No!" she cried, shrinking from his touch, her knees pulled up closer to her chest. He sat back watching her, his excitement and joy completely gone, chased away by the sobering reality of her terror.

"Jacquelyn," he called her name softly, gently, reaching out to her with his voice instead of his hands.

She stopped rocking for a moment, her eyes slowly coming back from whatever dark hell she had been hiding in. Slowly they began to focus on his face. "Wesley," she squeaked.

"It's ok, everything is alright now," he smiled still keeping his distance.

With a choking sob she launched herself forward into his chest, her arms grasping at his shirt. Her weight carried him onto his back, his arms coming up and holding her closely to him. He could feel her tears soaking into the cloth of his shirt, and he smiled down at the top of her head.

"Shh," he soothed, stroking the back of her head, holding her body gently to his own. "We're all ok now."

"I…I was so..," but her voice was lost in a fresh set of tears.

After another ten minutes of crying he felt her body beginning to relax, her shoulders no longer rising and falling in earnest. Slowly she sat up and looked down at him.

"You alright now?" he offered her a reassuring smile.

She nodded, rubbing at her puffy red eyes. Gently she rolled off of him and helped him to his feet. "What do we do now?" she pointed at the pentagram on the floor.

"Don't worry about it," he replied as made his way over to Michael's unconscious form. "Right now I need to get the two of you to the infirmary."

Gently Wesley lifted Michael up in his arms and headed for the door, Jacquelyn tight on his heels, her hand clutching his elbow. Silently they made their way across the disserted campus to the infirmary. A cold wind blew and Jacquelyn moved in closer to Wesley, her body jumping at every shadow that seemed to move across their path.

After five minutes of knocking the night nurse on duty answered the door. She asked no questions just whisked the students inside, closed the door behind them, and raced off to awaken the doctor on call. An hour or so later Wesley sat alone in the waiting area, his fingers absentmindedly twisting a loose piece of the bandage that now wrapped his ankle.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, right?" the doctor raised and eyebrow as he grew closer.

Wesley nodded.

"Yep, you are definitely Roger's boy," the man smiled, his American accent soft and pleasant. "I used to be an old school mate of your Dad's."

Wesley nodded again. He was waiting for the questions to start.

But instead the doctor ruffled his hair as if he as ten years old. "I'm not a fool son, and neither are any of your parents. Each of your wounds, they're from a Heneshi demon that's for sure; only demon with sickle-like claws. I don't even want to know what the three of you were thinking messing around with a creature like that but I'm not about to cause you anymore trouble than you are already in so my lips are sealed. But I just have to know, how did you manage to conjure up one of those buggers all on your own?"

As Wesley re-told the nights events he found himself growing more and more at ease. The doctor listened with awe to every detail and the more Wesley talked about it the more surprised he was at how unafraid he had been throughout the whole ordeal. Finally satisfied, the doctor instructed Wesley to take Jacquelyn back to her room. Michael was going to have to stay the night for observation but he would take care of Mr. Thomas.

The walk back to Jacquelyn's room was a long and cold one. Neither of them said very much. Jacquelyn's arm hung in a sling though it was only for the night. She had been lucky; nothing was broken and there was no permanent nerve damage. Just a nasty looking cut that would take some time to heel. They had all been very lucky.

Quietly, Wesley helped Jacquelyn into her room then closed the door behind them. "Do you need anything?" he asked, his hand still on the doorknob.

She shook her head.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he turned to go when he felt her hand on his wrist.

"Stay," she whispered. "Stay here with me, please. I don't think I'll be able to get to sleep alone."

Her eyes were huge in the soft lamp light. She looked so fragile, so scared. What could he do? With a nod he let go of the doorknob. Instantly her arms were wrapped around him tightly, her body snuggling close to his. He stared down at the top of her head in surprise, but quickly his arms came up holding her back.

Again he tried to sooth her fears, sitting her down upon her bed and stroking her hair. Suddenly her face pulled back from his chest and her green eyes stared up into his. Without a thought he leaned down and kissed her softly, awkwardly on the lips, but instead of pulling back she kissed him back, her arms coming up and wrapping tightly around his neck.

The kiss deepened, their lips pressing so hard against one another's Wesley began to fear they might bruise, but at the last moment her lips parted and he tasted her for the first time. Her fingers curled through his hair, as her free hand pulled his glasses from his nose and tossed them across the floor with a clatter, but he didn't care. His fingers ran along the line of her jaw, down her neck to her shoulders, her skin warm against his fingertips. Gently she leaned backwards, pulling him down on top of her onto her bed, arms still wrapped tightly around his neck. He leaned forward, acutely aware of the feel of her body beneath his, and he began to move his lips down the curve of her neck. She whispered his name against his ear, her lips pulling at his earlobe.

His heart pounded in his chest as seconds passed into minutes and suddenly his shirt was gone, and then hers, followed by his pants, her skirt, and before he knew it she was lying beneath him completely naked. Not even in his wildest dreams had Wesley entertained such a moment in his mundane stuffy British life, and yet here he was.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she pressed one of her long index fingers to his lips and shook her head. Reaching up she recapture his lips with her and for the first time in his life Wesley completely let go. Their love making was soft and slow, a need for gentleness after the night's events far outweighing any burning passions. He stumbled along awkwardly, trust her hands, her lips, even her body to guide him. It was the single most amazing moment in his life and afterwards he watched her sleep safe in the crook of his arms.

The light from the alarm clock by her bed soon alerted him to the growing morning hour. The janitors would be arriving shortly to open up the library and he still had to get rid of the pentagram. Quietly he dressed, retrieving his glasses from the floor across the room. For a moment he went to put them on his face, then glanced back at Jacquelyn's sleeping form. With a smile he tucked them safely into the pocket of his dress shirt, before placing a parting kiss on Jacquelyn's forehead. She sighed happily in her sleep.

As he was shutting the door behind him he suddenly had a strange and unsettling feeling. Pausing he watched her sleeping form through the fading shadows. He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to crawl back into bed with her, consequences be damned. But no, he had to take care of things first.

"I love you, Jacquelyn Privett," he whispered to the silence of her room before heading out into the growing morning light.


	4. Shadows and Dust

**Chapter 4: Shadows and Dust**

Somewhere in the building a clock struck the hour of 3. The long deep shadows of the 3 a.m. twilight crept across the carpet towards the solitary figure still hunched alone in his chair. A bottle of scotch lay empty and abandoned by the corner of the desk, the crumpled ends of a letter stuck out between the clenched fingers of his hand.

Slowly and a bit unsteadily, Wes got to his feet. Another night of abuse almost at an end and he was too tired to think anymore. Quietly he shut off the light to his office and began to stagger towards the stairs. Pausing, he steadied himself against the railing with his hands, his eyes staring down at the flat broad stairs before him. Nope, stairs were definitely a bad idea at the moment. Taking in a deep breath he turned and headed slowly towards the elevators.

With the soft release of air the silver doors slid back welcoming him with the warm glow of the elevator's lights, which shone a soft golden bronze in the darkness of the hallway around him. Squinting in the sudden brightness he shuffled forward, reaching out to press the elevator Parking level button as he moved passed it, but his fingers slipped and hit the L2 button as well.

"Damn it!" he growled to the soft elevator music that began to play as the doors closed and he began to move upward. L2 was the Laboratory level of Wolfram & Hart. In and of itself it was no big deal, but that's where Fred's office was. Having Jacquelyn's face haunting his subconscious was one thing, but throw Fred in there and things weren't going to be pretty.

The gentle movement of the elevator began to lull him and he felt some of the weight slipping from his shoulders as sleep began to call him. It was only then that he realized he still had the letter wedged tightly in his fist. Well at least he could throw it out in the lab.

After a few moments the elevator doors opened and he stepped out onto the darkened floor of the lab. Before him stood Fred's office and lab, entirely enclosed in glass windows, it had a soft relaxing blue light to it, the reflection of the low-lighting night settings. With a soft whoosh of air, he pushed open the main door to the lab and stumbled in. Now where were the waste baskets?

Finally he spied a biohazard bin in the far corner. So the letter wasn't actually toxic but the thought that it would be destroyed in a more efficient manner carried a certain appeal, and he eagerly reached out to stuff the crumpled ball inside. But just as he had opened the lid a light caught his eye and he found himself watching Fred still scouring over books in her office.

Her long brown hair had been twisted up into a loose bun at the back of her head, held in place by a yellow number 2 pencil. She was still wearing her lab coat, the soft blue of her sweater peaking out from between the coat's lapels. Somewhere along the way she had stripped off her shoes and socks, both of which lay abandoned beside her desk, her bare feet curled up on her chair beside her. Her black rimmed glasses were slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose and she kept pushing them back up, a pencil clutched between her teeth. She was the very picture of the absentminded scientist and Wesley couldn't help but find her beautiful…

"I'm sorry Wesley but I can't see you anymore," Jacquelyn's voice was brisk and cold, her pace quickening as she moved passed him.

"I don't understand," Wesley frowned, following after like a lost puppy. "Jacquelyn, what happened?"

"What happened!" she cried, her face incredulous. She noticed the glances from some of the passing students and she dropped her voice to a deadly even tone. "You nearly killed me and Michael that's what happened!"

"But," Wesley made to protest but she cut him off.

"You are too dangerous Wesley. Your ideas, your actions, all of you!"

"I thought we were…you know…" She still refused to look at him so his spit out the first word he could think of. "I thought we were friends?" He protested, his mind in complete confusion. It had been nearly a week since the incident at the library, since he had slept with Jacquelyn, and her and Michael were fine. Only their parents and the doctor knew the truth, or at least the truth Michael had led them all to believe, that Jacquelyn and him were unwitting pawns in Wesley's dangerous game. It had only been by sheer luck that Wesley's father had been able to keep his son from being expelled, and the Council had already assigned Wesley the task of reigning in another rogue Watcher and his spirited slayer in America. Out of sight, out of mind, that's what Michael's father had said. Wesley's transfer was to be immediate upon his graduation. But Jacquelyn, she would understand, she knew what really happened, what they had shared…or so he thought.

"Friends?" Jacquelyn scoffed. "You and me friends?"

"It's just…I thought…"

"Wesley the only reason I hung around you, the only reason I knew who you were was because of what you are to the people here. I've never had any desire to be a Watcher but my mother is on the Council so I was sent to this ridiculous school. What better way to get back at her than to be seen publicly fraternizing with you!"

Wesley swallowed hard. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But what about…what about us?"

"Look I'm sorry but we can't talk anymore. You need to stay away from me and from Michael."

"But I love you," he whispered weakly.

"I'm sorry, but I don't love you. That, what happened between us, Wesley, that was just a bit of cold comfort, that's all. Good-bye Wesley."

And just like that she had walked out of his life. The first woman he had ever loved and his best friend, both gone because of a stupid mistake he had made. He had spent the rest of his time at school alone in the library for the most part. He had lost himself in his exams, his work, and graduated top of his class. Sure enough he had received his assignment, Sunnydale California, along side his diploma. Michael had been offered a senior position among the Council and there had been a big celebration for his honor; of course Wesley had politely abstained.

He could still remember watching the lights and listening to the fading strands of the symphony from his perch in the library next door. It had been in that moment when he had decided that he would stop questioning and follow the letter of the law, no more no less. It had worked in a way for a time. Of course it had caused rifts between him and Buffy and Giles when he had first arrived. He had put on his best behavior and done everything the Council asked, double checking that every 't' was crossed, every 'i'dotted. He had stifled his curiosity, demanded nothing but unbiased uninvolved rhetoric and advice from himself and just watched his slayer walk the fine line of life and death. He had done it all in the hopes that maybe Jacquelyn would forgive him for whatever it was he had done, but instead he had received word from his father not two weeks into his assignment in California, that Jacquelyn and Michael were married. So in the end, no matter how hard he had tried for her he hadn't been able to stop himself from learning, from feeling and in the end that was the undoing of the "good little Council boy".

He had even tried to behave even after her wedding announcement, but he had made one critical mistake and that was opening himself up to Giles. At first it had been out of respect and duty but as he had come to know the older man Wesley had been drawn to his influence, re-awakening many of the ideas and principles he had believed in for so long. He had even re-opened himself up to love, or at least a silly attempt at puppy love with Cordelia, and all of it had been his undoing again. He had allied himself with Giles, broke contact with the Council, befriended Angel, a vampire with a soul, and begun working along side with him. But even that wasn't enough for him, instead he kept reading, kept trying things his way and slowly he had grown away from the safety of his British upbringing and become a full fledge rogue demon hunter, at times allied with his friends, at others their hated enemy. Where in all of the mixed up mess that was his life were the happy moments? Where had he gone so incredibly wrong that nothing made sense anymore? When had he shut off his emotions so completely that he moved robotically through night and day?

And now here he stood in the middle of an abandoned lab watching another beautiful, intelligent woman, and secretly loving her from a far. He really was a fool.

"Wesley?" Fred's soft voice ran its way along his spin. Blinking he found her staring back at him through the glass windows of her office.

"Oh sorry," he replied, as she made her way into the darken confinement of the lab.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her face crested with concern. He must have looked worse than he thought.

"Oh uh, throwing this out," he held up the crumpled piece of paper and tossed into the biohazard bin.

"You alright?" she pressed, retrieving the piece of paper.

"Yeah, just a letter from an old friend," he was stumbling slightly over his words, suddenly afraid she might open the letter and see how much more of disaster he really was.

She studied him carefully for a few minutes, taking in the pain clearly cut across his face, and the alcohol heavy on his breath. Absentmindedly she scratched at the bandage that was wrapped around her right arm; another of his mistakes, a mistake so reminiscent of Jacquelyn.

She caught his eyes staring at the bandage and she smiled gently, "Almost all better."

He opened his mouth to speak again but she silenced him with a shake of her head. "If you are going to apologize again please don't. I know the game just as well as you guys do. I may not be big and strong but I can handle myself. You aren't dangerous, Wesley. You are the complete opposite of that. You and Angel, you guys are fearless. You ignore your own safety day in and day out to do what needs to be done. Well I'm a part of the team too and if I want to be reckless with my life then you can't stop me!" She punctuated the last with a laugh and several playful jabs at his arm. "Ok?"

"Alright," he smiled back. It was amazing how well she understood him, all of him, even the parts he kept so secretly shielded from the world. Jacquelyn had called him dangerous for the same things that Fred called noble. Instead of rejection and judgment Fred offered only comfort and warmth, even though his actions had nearly cost her her life. She really was one in a million. If only she could be his one in a million.

Again her eyes fell back on the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

Without a word she tossed the paper back into the biohazard bin. "Now how about some coffee and a ride home? I know I certainly could use the company and I'm starved!"

He glanced over her shoulder at the pile of half eaten Chinese food take-out boxes littering her desk. Somehow he had the feeling she had eaten her fill for the night but the offer was not lost on him.

So with a smile he waited for her to close up her office, gather her things, and then lead him gently to the elevator, all the while talking away about her research. For the first time in weeks he felt himself relax, felt the weight lifting and a lightness enter his steps. Another part of his past was buried and gone, and thought that memory had helped to shape him into the man he had become and influenced the choices he had made, he knew at long last who he was. Jacquelyn may have been the first woman he had ever loved but she would not be last.

She was just a part of a life he had once lived. And that life would forever be a part of him, but he had found something deeper among the battles and evil of L.A. He'd found a new life and a meaning for his life. Fred might never love him but he would be content loving her alone. She seemed to understand him on a deeper level, in a way no one, male or female ever had, and despite all the mistakes he made and continued to make she had been the one person to stand by him and continue to trust and believe in him. And maybe that was all that was all that mattered…that could be his happy memory to help keep him honest and moving a step forward each day in his new life at Wolfram & Hart.

_The End._

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©2005

Ok, that's it. Hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave feedback (only way I'll get better) at divine. (just put some note in the title so I won't mistake it for Spam ).


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